


Pack Mom Doesn't Mean What You Think It Means

by Dorksidefiker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mom isn't always the one who holds your hand and kisses your boo-boos away.  Sometimes, Mom's the one who smacks you upside the head and yells at you for being an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pack Mom Doesn't Mean What You Think It Means

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jflowy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jflowy/gifts).



> A belated Christmas gift for my (very tolerant) beta-reader. Ironically unbeta'd.

“I'm surrounded by idiots!” Stiles announced, pacing across the floor of Deaton's surgery. His shoes squeaked on the linoleum, and his skin was going red as his glare switched from one werewolf to another. Derek stayed back, privately glad that he wasn't the focus of Stiles' rage. Boyd was actually backed up against the wall, trying to look uncowed, but Scott and Isaac didn't even bother to pretend that they were anything but deeply embarrassed to be lectured like children. “I told you – _I told you_ not to mess with the paint! But God forbid anyone actually listen to me!”

Boyd scratched at the rash that threatened to spread across his chest, and Stiles reached over and smacked his hand hand away. Derek watched with interest as Boyd flinched and dropped his hands to his side. Isaac snickered, and Stiles whipped around to glare. “Just wait till the pustules start coming in, _then_ we'll see who's laughing.”

The betas probably didn't even realize what Stiles was doing. Hell, Derek didn't think _Stiles_ knew what he was doing. Isaac, Scott, and Boyd weren't reacting to what Stiles was saying; it was all about his body language. Back straight, chin raised, taking full advantage of his height to dominate. He was staring down werewolves, and he wasn't even _thinking_ about it.

If he did start thinking about it, Stiles would probably get to flustered to go on, which was why Derek wasn't going to say a word about it.

“I should let you you two itch yourselves to death,” Stiles muttered, thrusting a jar of salve into Scott's hands. “You're lucky I don't wanna look at crusty pimple rashes.”

“Three,” Isaac pointed out, trying to get the jar from Scott.

“I like Scott,” Stiles reminded him flatly, smacking Scott's head with the back of his hand when he smirked. “You two, I kinda wanna tie up in a sack of rocks and drown.”

Derek dropped his head to hide his grin; if push came to shove, he was sure Stiles could follow through on a threat, but he was pretty sure that Stiles was too attached to Boyd and Isaac to actually hurt them on purpose. A year ago, Stiles could have done it, and Derek didn't think he'd have regretted it. When it came to people outside his little circle of important people, Stiles was ruthless and remorseless. People _inside_ his circle just got sharp words and the occasional Lacrosse ball.

Derek would never tell Stiles, but it reminded him of the way his mother used to tear into Derek and his cousins whenever they did something incredibly stupid. It was stupidly hot – again, not that Derek would ever tell Stiles.


End file.
